


A Little Courage

by prettybirdy979



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Other, Post-Canon, Requited Love, post-armageddon't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24521788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybirdy979/pseuds/prettybirdy979
Summary: It took Aziraphale sixthousandyears for Aziraphale to get the courage to take Crowley's hand, to take his first action on their unspoken affection for another. And it's beenbliss.Of course that's about the point Aziraphale realises it's been weeks since that moment and Crowley's not left his side for more than a few moments. And well, he... helikesit. He wants an eternity of Crowley by his side, an eternity of Crowley living with him intheirflat above the bookshop.So he has a plan. Tempt Crowley into moving in - surely it can't be that hard?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 247
Collections: Fandom For Australia





	A Little Courage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Binary_Sunset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binary_Sunset/gifts).



> So this... this took a little while. Written for the Fandom for Australia event for Binary_Sunset, it was supposed to be a bit of domestic fluff.
> 
> And then this plot happened... 
> 
> Binary_Sunset - I do hope you like it and it's what you wanted.
> 
> Huge thanks to Rdyest for betaing!

It happens as they leave the Ritz, hours after toasting each other and the world. Aziraphale takes a deep breath and looks at Crowley out of the corner of his eye as they leave. Another deep breath, to gather the courage he’s never had to use in all these years they’ve been together.

Then he reaches out and takes Crowley’s hand. Crowley, in the process of raising the other hand to hail a cab, freezes. He doesn’t look back at Aziraphale, just stands there for a long minute as Aziraphale’s useless heart pounds.

But then, oh Lord above, _then_ Crowley _squeezes_ Aziraphale’s hand. Squeezes it and gives him the same sideways look of adoration he’s always given Aziraphale, the look Aziraphale isn’t actually sure he can live without. And he smiles.

Aziraphale, warm and giddy with a love he’s never let himself feel so deeply before, grins back.

 _My love,_ he thinks and gives the cabbie his address.

Crowley stays the night, sleeping comfortably on Aziraphale’s couch as Aziraphale lets himself be distracted by one of Adam’s new additions. The next morning he drags Aziraphale away from the books to do breakfast at some ‘hippy-ster’ cafe Crowley knows (Aziraphale rather likes hipster food but it’s also a joy to wind Crowley up when he gets the names wrong).

Afterwards they go back to the bookshop via Crowley’s apartment (so he can care for the plants) and start what quickly becomes a pattern. The next step in their partnership.

A holding stage of their relationship.

Something Aziraphale really should have been paying attention to...

*

Weeks later, it’s a beam of sunlight, a glare of light slipping through his usually miraculous blinds, that makes Aziraphale blink and look up. Light should know better than to do something as crude as shine into his face when he’s reading. What if it made one of his books _fade?_

Tracing the beam back to the offending window, Aziraphale finds himself blinking for another reason entirely, before a soft smile creeps across his face. He could have sworn that that window was full of some of the duller books of his collection (ones that no human has ever come into his shop looking for and thus making excellent display books). Only now the window is empty of books, instead taken up by a rather large branch.

Atop which is Crowley, dozing in the sunlight, in his snake form. Aziraphale absently notes a few passersby gawking at the large snake through the window but most of his attention is on the way the light reflects off of Crowley’s scales, on the way it makes him glitter in the sunlight.

 _Beautiful_ , he thinks, glad Crowley’s asleep and not able to see the foolish look he can feel on his face. Bloody serpent wouldn’t let him live it down, no matter that he wears something far more adoring every time they get dinner.

‘Oh dinner,’ he mutters to himself as he pulls out his pocket watch. Hmm, three o’clock. He’ll have to shut the store for dinner soon, else there won’t be enough time to get to any of their favourite places before they close. No, best to shut now actually. Make sure there’s time enough.

Aziraphale rises with a sigh, stretching some of the stubbornly human kinks out of his back. Would Crowley be up for sushi tonight? They’ve not done that one this wee-

 _Wait_ . Aziraphale blinks, sitting back down in his seat as he runs through the last few nights. Italian last night, Korean barbeque the night before that… Night before _that_ had been curry, the proper stuff from that little hole in the wall down the road.

Would this be four nights in a row they’ve eaten together?

But no. Crowley had bought over fish and chips recently, Azirapahle can still remember the complaining - and the Bentley did still have a chippy smell to it last night. So within the last week for sure. Oh and they’d gone out two nights after the Ritz - itself counting as dinner despite beginning as a lunch - and oh how long has it been since the world tried to end?

Aziraphale tries to count the days and fails. All the days just fade into one long blur of…

Of _companionship_.

Aziraphale feels weightless and heavy, a little glad he’s already sitting down since he’s not sure his knees are up to taking his weight right now. All the days since the beginning of their new world flash in his mind, a long line of repetitive moments that each feel as perfect as the one before.

After all they all have Crowley in them. Crowley who hasn’t left his side - or his shop - for any period long enough to notice. Crowley who has been _here_ , in Aziraphale’s space for what has to be longer than a week. Two weeks. A month maybe? Oh Lord, it could even be longer than that - have the leaves outside started to brown with autumn yet?

And Aziraphale didn’t notice. Something cold seeps into him as he rises, eyes on the still sleeping Crowley. A month - or more! - of togetherness and Aziraphale didn’t notice. Even working at the Dowlings, they’d not spent that much time together, divided as they were by the covers they’d tossed for.

‘No more,’ Aziraphale says to the quiet bookshop. ‘I won’t let it go unnoticed anymore.’

Why Crowley’s spent so much time here unnoticed it’s like he moved in-

Aziraphale sits back down again. ‘ _Oh_ ,’ he whispers, letting the weight of the word settle into the silent air. ‘Oh _no_.’

Crowley couldn’t have _moved in_ , could he? He would have asked, Aziraphale is sure. It’s so fast, they’ve barely acknowledged that there is an _us_. Oh but that’s not fair of Aziraphale, if he makes Crowley continue to slow down when given the green light. He’s caused the two of them enough pain with his ‘not yet’ for fifty years, he’s not doing it again.

So if Crowely did move in… Aziraphale must not have been paying attention - too caught up in himself and his newly won freedom to care. Did he miss his chance? His moment to turn to Crowley and say yes, I want you to always be in my space. I want you here.

What if Aziraphale missed all the cues and is accidently inflicting more pain onto his beloved?

Oh but Crowley wouldn’t do that. He _wouldn’t_.

So no he’s not moved in. He can’t have. And why is that _worse?_

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heart. What if Crowley is just staying until he’s had this century’s fill of Aziraphale and is going to _leave?_ They never used to spend this much time together, after all.

The thought leaves Aziraphale cold. The mere idea of an end to these perfect days that have started the rest of their lives sends chills down his spine and puts a block into his throat. Crowley being here is the best part of Their Side, Aziraphale can’t be _happy_ if Crowley’s not there.

‘You’re being silly,’ he whispers to himself, pushing past the lump in his throat. ‘Crowley wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t going to stay - you _know_ he loves you.’ Hearing that phrase spoken aloud, even if only by himself, warms the coldness in his heart. A little tiny bit.

Yes, Crowley loves him. Has said so a million times, in a thousand different ways. Not aloud of course, but Crowley’s never needed to speak to say a thousand words. He must be here because he wants to be…

And Aziraphale hadn’t noticed. Anything.

Well that will have to change. From today, Aziraphale is going to make it so obvious he’s noticed Crowley’s everything, he’ll be unable to resist the tem-

‘ _Oh_ ,’ Aziraphale breathes. ‘I can tempt _him_ ,’ he tells his books, the weight of reality sinking in. ‘I can tempt him into moving in.’

After all, you can’t tempt someone into doing something they don’t want to do, at least a little bit. And surely Crowley, the Earth’s original tempter, will appreciate the gesture.

But first - ‘Dinner I think,’ Aziraphale says, checking his watch to find he’s lost a whole half hour to his woolgathering and emotional shocks. That wouldn’t do at all - they might be _late_. And Aziraphale is going to need a full stomach to be able to make his plans without being caught by Crowley.

‘Crowley dear?’ he calls, not in the least surprised when the serpent doesn’t stir or so much as twitch. Crowley’s such a sound sleeper. Always has been, Aziraphale knows, from all the times he watched over Crowley during his longer naps without once being detected.

Not useful now though, when they’re at risk of being late for dinner.

‘Crowley come on dear. Time to wake up.’ Nothing. And that was his louder voice, perfect for startling that customer who didn’t realise they weren’t alone.

‘Crowley?’ he tries one last time, walking towards his sleeping snake. ‘Crowley, you can’t sleep all day you lazy snake.’

Still nothing. Aziraphale grins. ‘Oh my dear, please don’t make me do this,’ he says in a tone that he knows Crowley privately calls his “about to be a bastard” tone.

‘Come on dear, time to wake up.’

And with that final warning, Aziraphale reaches over and picks up Crowley. He takes care to ensure Crowley’s weight is supported as he loops him over his shoulders, leaving his hands on Crowley’s body. It’s a barely noticeable weight, but it is comforting to have him there.

Of course while Crowley can sleep through a lot of things, very few people sleep through being picked up and placed on someone’s shoulders. Crowley comes awake hissing, trying to twist himself away from the thing that he’s been placed on.

Aziraphale tightens his grip, his hands already perfectly placed to make sure his demon doesn’t fall and hurt himself.

‘Really my dear,’ he says as Crowley hisses at him. ‘I did give you fair warning! It’s dinner time.’

‘Dinner time?’ Crowley says in an angry hiss, putting his head on top of Aziraphale’s. ‘It’s not even half four!’

Aziraphale frowns. ‘I know dear, we’ll be so late at this rate.’

‘Angel… oh for Sa- Go- Someone’s sake.’ Crowley wriggles, the only warning Aziraphale gets before he transforms into his human form.

Crowley is bracing himself, Aziraphale can feel it, so clearly expecting the change to knock him off balance. But well… Crowley doesn’t weigh _that_ much more as a human than as a snake and yes, the position is awkward but Aziraphale has lived six thousand years on this planet as a man-shaped being. He’s carried far more awkward loads that weighed much more.

So he simply shifts his grip as best he can and sticks his back out a bit, so that Crowley doesn’t slip off. Above him Crowley windmills his arms for a moment, before he too shifts and wriggles into a better position that lets Aziraphale stand up straight. A few more moments and Crowley’s balanced on his shoulders, his legs dangling down in front of Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale shifts again, getting himself into a solid stance.

Then, carefully, Aziraphale tilts his head back so he can look up at Crowley. Crowley who is leaning forward and looking down at him with a wide, open mouth and a glimmer of delight in his eyes.

‘Having fun dear?’ Aziraphale asks.

Crowley grins. ‘A ball. Nice view.’

‘Worth getting up for, you lazy snake?’

Another grin. ‘I’d get up for this view any time,’ he says, looking straight down at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale can feel his cheeks heating up under the compliment. ‘Clearly not, considering the means I just had to go to to wake you,’ he says and smiles when Crowley sputters in response. ‘Come on then dear. Dinner.’

‘Wait, angel!’ Crowley cries as Aziraphale heads for his door. ‘Aren’t you going to put me down?!’

‘When I need to,’ Aziraphale says as he miracles the doorway tall enough for them to slip through.

‘I can’t drive the Bentley on your shoulders!’ But Crowley doesn’t wriggle or move in any way, other than to reach down and grab Aziraphale’s hand. He squeezes it and doesn’t let go.

Aziraphale squeezes back. ‘It’s a nice night. We can walk.’

‘You can walk,’ Crowley says and flops down so his body is resting more on Aziraphale’s head. ‘I’ll nap.’

‘Nap and I drop you,’ Aziraphale says in a bright tone.

It’s a lovely walk from there, with good conversation and only a few stares from passersby. Then a nice dinner that Aziraphale doesn’t quite get Crowley to share.

But that’s okay. He has more time to tempt Crowley into dinner. For now, he has to get the biggest temptation of his life to work.

So. No pressure there.

_*_

The next day Crowley ducks out, claiming he’s going to get some iced buns from the local store. It’s not the first time he’s made the trip out and Aziraphale knows he’ll be gone exactly thirty-five minutes despite the place only being two minutes drive away (as Crowley drives). From the drops of water Aziraphale always sees on his coat, he’s sure Crowley’s stopping by his flat.

Why he doesn’t just move them i-

No, wait Aziraphale. Getting ahead of yourself here.

With a ticking clock, Aziraphale takes a deep breath and starts to examine his home. The bookshop downstairs is very much his space, but looking around he can see nooks where a plant could fit. Oh, by the shelves there is _perfect_ for that sketch of Crowley’s. And if Aziraphale moved a few books, he could get that good and evil ‘wrestling’ statue down here.

Darting up the stairs, mindful of his time limit, Aziraphale opens his mind to his flat. Their flat.

Hmm. Clean those windows - done with a snap - and now there’s enough light for the more light seeking of Crowley’s plants. Move some of the books around - to be done bit by bit, miracle free - and Aziraphale could clear a larger space for Crowley’s television and sofa. Though they may have to discuss that; Crowley’s sofa is that nightmare thing that looks comfortable but _really_ isn’t. They could even fit his throne over there, by Aziraphale’s little reading nook near the front of the place and something in Aziraphale warms at the idea of them sitting side by side in mismatched chairs that somehow still _work_.

Of course the final temptation, Aziraphale realises as he enters his dusty and seldom used bedroom, will have to be this room. There’s no other space that could be solely Crowley’s in his flat, and Crowley deserves his own space. Lord knows Aziraphale’s only ever stored books in here… giving it to Crowley is only logical.

And Crowley’s bed _would_ fit in here.

Oh but he’s getting ahead of himself. First to domestically tempt Crowley into staying.

_*_

It starts small. The cleaning of his windows goes uncommented on but Aziraphale watches how Crowley’s eyes linger on the now dust free windows. A day later one of Crowley’s plants appears in it, shaking under Crowley’s threats but _here_ in _their_ space.

 _Perfect_.

A comment about Crowley surely missing his shows leads to a lot of babble about streams and streaming services - whatever water has to do with it - but does herald the arrival of Crowley’s television and sofa into their flat two days later. Aziraphale settles into the right side of the sofa the third night it’s there and makes a few comments about it being uncomfortable.

It’s a different sofa the next day.

 _Victory_.

Time to step it up.

Aziraphale clears the walls by one of his shelves the next day, while Crowley weaves along the top of the bookshelves. Occasionally she jumps out at customers who start screaming at the giant snake, but when she’s not, Aziraphale can feel her gaze on him with every move he makes.

He leaves the space clean but empty.

Two days later, Crowley’s Leonardo da Vinci sketch appears on the wall.

 _Yes_.

*

Aziraphale didn’t stop to consider the full consequences of making their cohabitation more official until the day he shoos away the last of his customers so he can close the store, grabs one of his favourite books to read, only to enter their flat and find Crowley sitting on the sofa.

In _his_ spot.

Sure it’s only been his spot on the sofa for a week or so, but the right has also been his spot since _Eden_. He has a _claim_ to it.

And Crowley’s not just in _his_ spot, but in his spot with _intent_. They may have their phone up in front of their face, their eyes fixed on the screen, but their eyes aren’t _moving_ , aren’t focusing. Instead their gaze is on Aziraphale, though the angle they’re looking from would surely hurt a human after a moment.

Of course Crowley probably thinks they’re being sneaky. They forget how obvious eye movements are and how much their glasses actually hide.

Aziraphale takes a deep breath and puts his book down, looking through the shelves for a better choice. Today is not the time for a comforting Lewis read, today needs - ah yes.

 _A Picture of Dorian Gray_. Perfect.

Crowley twitches at the book choice but gives no other sign of having noticed. Good. Oscar was a dear companion when Crowley was sleeping and Aziraphale was alone. He refuses to let Crowley’s guilt over that whole time colour his memories of his - what did Crowley call him? - his _ex_.

But it does make a lovely needling point, which is sorely needed right now.

Right, weapon in hand Aziraphale looks at the sofa for his battle plan. Sitting beside Crowley would be admitting defeat; sitting on them while direct, may lead to sputtering not conducive to reading and would defeat the whole _point_ of coming up here to read. No, he needs another approach. Some way to be on Crowley but not-

Oh, _there’s an idea_.

Gathering his courage and moving before he has a chance to talk himself out of it, Aziraphale makes his way over to the sofa. He sits beside Crowley, ignoring the hiss of delight that causes Crowley to make, before miracling off his shoes and coat. He can feel Crowley’s confusion at the move but ignores it, instead pulling the book closer to his chest.

And then he tilts sidewards, bringing his feet up in the same movement. Carefully calculated, the move lets him lay on the sofa neatly, with his head directly in Crowley’s lap.

Crowley _freezes_.

But they don’t say anything, just sit there staring at their screen. A long minute passes where neither angel or demon move.

Then Aziraphale takes a deep breath and lifts up his book so he can see. A moment later he shifts a bit more so he’s on his back and he can rest the book on his stomach. It’s not quite right though, so he shifts a bit until everything’s nicely positioned and he can see the bottom of the page without having to breathe in, making sure he’s not resting too much weight on Crowley - boney thing they are.

And he starts to read. Slowly at first, alert to every twitch of his pillow and every sound Crowley makes. But then the book starts to draw him in, the world imagined by Oscar stealing his attention from the real world to the point that his awareness of Crowley fades to nothing more than a sense of warmness behind his neck.

It’s an actual miracle then, that Aziraphale doesn’t jump when a hand rests lightly on the top of his head. The action of course draws him out of his new reality and into this one, causing him to freeze. Which has Crowley’s hand freezing too.

Then Aziraphale pushes his head up, nudging into Crowley’s hand. It takes a long, heart pounding moment before Crowley starts to play with Aziraphale’s curls in the slowest and most gentle way possible.

Oh. Oh. _Oh_.

Is this what this feels like?

Aziraphale sighs contentedly, tilting his head into the motions and closing his eyes. His book lowers as he pushes further into Crowley’s hand. No one in all of existence has touched his hair like this - not even his bewildered barber, who’s been offering a hair wash to him every visit for the last few decades. Aziraphale hadn’t seen the point, until now. But no, Aziraphale can’t imagine it would feel as good as this, this feeling of having his dearest love run their hands through his hair with soft, almost reverent touches.

‘Should steal your seat more often,’ Crowley says finally, after a time that could be minutes, could be eras has passed. ‘If this is what happens.’

‘So you admit you stole my seat,’ Aziraphale slurs out, still absorbed by the touches.

‘I’ma demon. Iss my job to steal.’

Aziraphale opens one eye to see Crowley leaning over him with the most adoring look on his face. ‘Of course it is,’ he says and closes his eyes again to better feel.

They’ll have to swap over soon of course. Aziraphale is trying to tempt Crowley into an eternity of cohabitation and this feeling is surely enough to secure at least a decade’s worth.

...In a few more minutes.

(Five hours later, it’s Aziraphale’s rumbling stomach that calls an end to everything but after dinner it’s ridiculously easy to tempt Crowley to spend the night - and next day - in his lap so Aziraphale can return the favour)

*

Walking through St James a day later and Aziraphale is sure that Crowley may still be a little upset about his choice of book.

‘You couldn’t have picked _any_ other book?’

Okay very sure. Crowley’s not exactly subtle. ‘I wanted to read, Dorian Gray is an old favourite… Wilde did have such a way with words.’

‘I mean, _Wilde_ ,’ they grumble, running their hands along their dress to flatten it. Aziraphale takes the chance to admire it again, a short black and sparkly dress that shows off their thighs nicely. Every so often the sun catches it and Aziraphale can see the tiny red sparkles hidden amongst the black.

‘ _Wilde_ ,’ Crowley repeats and Aziraphale jerks his head up to look them in the face. ‘Overrated I think. People care more about the scandal than his works.’

Aziraphale grimaces, something tightening in his chest. ‘Oh don’t say that. He was such a lovely writer. Take -

 _Could we live it over again,  
_ _Were it worth the pain,  
_ _Could the passionate past that is fled  
_ _Call back its dead!_

 _Well, if my heart must break,  
_ _Dear love, for your sake,  
_ _It will break in music, I know,  
_ _Poets' hearts break so.’_

Crowley scrunches their nose up, making a face. ‘Got him memorised then?’

‘Of course my dear. That poem always did remind me of you. Of us.’ That makes Crowley stop in place, blinking and mouthing soundless words. ‘Besides, even if his words didn’t appeal to you, he was such a lovely dinner guest.’

‘Superb conversation at your place then?’ Crowley snaps, though there’s no heat in it as they take Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale smirks.’Better than yours sometimes, you malingering serpent-’

‘It was only 80 odd years, I was very tired!’

‘You were sulking,’ Aziraphale corrects and gets a lovely glare from Crowley. He can feel a sly smile slipping onto his face. ‘But then I should thank you.’

Crowley gives him a suspicious look that warms Aziraphale’s heart. ‘What for?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have met him if I wasn’t doing double duty on the Arrangement because of your ah, little nap. So really, I should thank you for giving me the chance to meet him.’ Aziraphale stops and turns to face the sputtering Crowley. ‘Thank you my dear.’

Crowley grits their teeth, so loud Aziraphale can hear them. But then they sighs. ‘You’re welcome.’

Aziraphale blinks. ‘I am?’

Even through their glasses, Aziraphale can see the earnest look in Crowley’s eyes. ‘I could never regret something that made you happy.’

‘Oh my dear,’ Aziraphale puts his free hand on Crowley’s cheek. ‘He made me happy in quite a few ways, but you, oh you make me incandescent with joy.’

That gets a beautiful smile from Crowley, the type that lights up their whole face. ‘ _Angel_.’

Aziraphale smiles back, stroking Crowley’s jaw.

Then Crowley frowns. ‘Did you kiss him then?’

Aziraphale frowns too, dropping his hand. ‘Of course, yes. Not too often but he was so very good at it I never did say no when he asked.’

Something in Crowley drops, making them look smaller. ‘Oh. Only… only if he asked?’

‘Well… yes, mostly.’ Aziraphale’s frown deepens as something nudges at the back of his mind. ‘Do… do you want a kiss my dear?’

Crowley looks down, biting at their lip. ‘Not if you don’t wanna angel.’

‘Oh my dear,’ Aziraphale says leaning in so he’s inches from Crowley’s lips. ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you far longer than I ever wanted to kiss Oscar.’

‘For real?’

Aziraphale nods. ‘May I?’

Crowley nods too and Aziraphale closes the distance between their lips. It’s warm, and soft and _perfect_ , lasting far longer than any previous kiss Aziraphale has ever had (not needing to breathe does come in handy).

‘...was I better?’ Crowley asks when they finally break apart.

Aziraphale licks at his lips, eyes still on Crowley’s. ‘...I did kiss him more, I’ll need more for… for comparison.’ He tries for earnest but misses, the winded feeling in his chest affecting him more than he’s ever been affected before.

That gets a groan. ‘Oh you bastard, you could just ask,’ Crowley grumbles with an adorable frown on their face.

‘Okay my dear. Kiss me again then.’

So they do.

For a while.

A very long while.

It’s a wolf whistle that breaks them out of it, a human racing by so fast Aziraphale doesn’t actually get a chance to see their face. Not that he has time to look, not with the way Crowley jumps at the noise, taking a step back. Aziraphale has to chase him, putting his lips to Crowley’s for one final kiss.

‘I think,’ he whispers against them, ‘that we may be late for lunch.’

The feeling of Crowley giggling while their lips are an inch from Aziraphale’s lips is a weird one but it doesn’t last long. They break apart as Crowley tries to hide their laughter and lowers their head.

‘Dearest?’ Aziraphale asks, not even trying to hide this smile.

‘Angel, it’s _getting dark_.’

Aziraphale fishes out his pocket watch. ‘Yes, I did say I thought we might be late for lunch. May have to reconsider our location - I don’t think the cafe is open this late.’ Crowley’s brows raise an inch. ‘Oh no, don’t you _dare_. No miracles! We can go there tomorrow.’

There’s something off about the smile on Crowley’s face, something - dare Aziraphale call it - dazed? ‘Tomorrow, of course, tomorrow, yes.’

They stand there for a moment until Aziraphale blinks and offers his hand to Crowley. ‘Dinner then my dear? Your choice.’

The look on Crowley’s face is exactly the same as the one they wore when Eve first gave baby Cain to them to hold. They break into the same delighted smile they did back then, growing slowly across their face like a beam of sunlight moving steadily into a room.

They take Aziraphale’s hand and the two of them walk hand in hand to the restaurant.

*

The next day Aziraphale moves the pile of books by their flat’s doorway. The space stays empty for three days, until Crowley throws his jacket onto the floor for the fifth time in a row and starts grumbling about it.

‘Oh yes, it is a bit empty isn’t it.’ Aziraphale picks up the jacket - bright pink and how he _loves_ that Crowley’s colour pallet does have more than shades of black and red now - and puts it on the side of Crowley’s throne. ‘My apologies dear.’

‘Why’d you move the books?’ Crowley grumbles as he clicks and vanishes the jacket. ‘Made a fine coat rack they did.’

Aziraphale feels himself puffing up, the indignance caught in his throat. ‘How _dare_ you? My books are not a coat rack!’

‘Well they aren’t _now_.’

Aziraphale huffs. ‘Find yourself a new one,’ he snaps, hiding his glee in the pretense of anger. ‘I don’t care _what_ , just don’t use my books!’

Crowley’s eyes _glitter_ , there’s no other word for it. ‘No complaints then angel? No matter what I pick?’

‘I’ll try and contain myself,’ Aziraphale says dryly.

‘Be right back then,’ Crowley says and all but vanishes from their flat.

He’s back in less than half an hour, hauling along the _exact_ piece Aziraphale thought he would. That ridiculous statue, the one he always tries to pretend is good and evil ‘wrestling’. Yes, best it is covered.

‘Absolutely not,’ he snaps at the sight of it. To do otherwise would be too suspicious. ‘I'm not having that in the flat.’

Crowley lights up with glee. ‘You said you wouldn’t complain.’

‘I won’t,’ Aziraphale says eyeing the statue, ‘I’ll just throw it out the window if it stays in here too long.’ He picks the statue up, ignoring the way the huffing Crowley groans as the weight is taken off him. It’s only a little heavier than some of the rocks Aziraphale has had to move over the years, why is Crowley complaining?

‘You _wouldn’t_.’ Crowley sounds distraught but there’s a hint of delight in his voice, the same note he always gets when Aziraphale is a bit of a bastard. A sound that never fails, at least now, to tempt Aziraphale into _being_ that bastard.

‘ _Try me_ ,’ Aziraphale says as he lifts the statue above his head. There’s a little part of him that’s enjoying this back and forward.

Okay a big part.

‘Compromise then, angel.’ Crowley waits until Aziraphale nods and puts the statue down before continuing. ‘I… I have two. One for up here and one for the bookshop. Your choice where they go but they do go somewhere.’

‘A fair choice.’

Crowley snaps his fingers and a second statue appears. It’s an eagle lectern, far more battered and bruised than the piece of art in Aziraphale’s hands. In fact it looks rather burnt and almost fragile, like it’s been through the wars-

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale breathes and Crowely flinches slightly. But Aziraphale barely notices, focused as he is on the lectern he remembers from the church. From that night.

The night Aziraphale realised that Crowley, demon as he is, loved Aziraphale _back_.

‘That one up here,’ he whispers and looks up in time to catch the surprise in Crowley’s eyes before he nudges his glasses up to cover them. ‘I want that one here.’

‘You sure angel? Leaves the wrestling one down there.’

Aziraphale nods. ‘I want to always be able to see that.’ He looks at Crowley then can’t help himself, moving forward for a kiss.

At least he does after he remembers to put the statue down. Eventually they’ll be in place, but first he’s got to kiss Crowley senseless.

_*_

The final thing is slow, the work of weeks. Nearly as soon as Aziraphale started this temptation, he’s been working on the bedroom. First to clean it out - to remove the dust and layers of crumbs (and mice, oh dear he really should have cleaned sometime in the last decade or two). And then to slowly move the books over every surface out, careful to never increase the piles outside to the point that Crowley _notices_.

Of course he can’t get all the books out. There’s a few too many for that. But swapping in books he knows Crowley likes? Well that’s the last step of the preparation. Funny books mostly, but also science fiction - all of it books Aziraphale brought solely for how animated Crowley is when they speak of them.

Finally, a week after they moved the statues in, the bedroom is as empty as Aziraphale can get it. It’s the first time he’s seen his bed in, oh, might be a century at this point. It looks far less comfortable than it had back then, when Aziraphale had tried it to see what Crowley was doing with this extended nap thing (only a few years into it at that point).

A perfect setup then, for Crowley to realise he has the better bed and be tempted into making the final step and moving in fully.

Aziraphale is ready. Time to make the move.

*

Crowley makes it easy for him too, setting up the temptation effortlessly.

It’s late at night and they’re watching the television together, Crowley’s head in Aziraphale’s lap. Well, Aziraphale is watching television. Crowley just yawned for the third time in five minutes, their eyes half shut as they burrow into Aziraphale’s thigh.

‘My dear, I may be a little plump-’

‘’Ur p’rf’ct angle,’ Crowley slurs, causing Aziraphale to beam.

‘-a little plump,’ he continues, as if Crowley hadn’t spoken. ‘But I am not the most comfortable of pillows, surely?’

Crowley tenses. ‘You.. you want me to leave?’ They sound more awake then they have all night.

Something in Aziraphale goes cold. ‘Oh no! No my dear!’ The coldness warms at the way Crowley relaxes and slumps back into Aziraphale.

‘I just…’ Aziraphale bites at his lip, ‘I _do_ have a bed you know my dear. Surely it’s more comfortable than this sofa?’

Crowley sits bolt upright. ‘You have a bed? _You_ have a _bed?_ ’

Aziraphale shuffles in his place, feeling a little ruffed. ‘I do! Of course I have a bed.’

‘How many books on it?’ Crowley says with a grin. ‘I bet you’ve had it since this place opened and it’s just a book storage.’

‘I’ve had it a century! Nowhere near that long,’ Aziraphale snaps, leaning into Crowley’s shoulder. ‘And there’s not a book on it.’

‘You _liar_ ,’ Crowley says and rises, letting Aziraphale’s head fall to the sofa. ‘I have _got_ to see this.’

Aziraphale huffs, but follows secure in the knowledge he’s about to be proven right. Crowley stops dead in the doorway and Aziraphale can’t help but grin.

‘Find any books my dear?’ he asks, peering over their shoulder to look at his book free bed. ‘I’m sure it was book free but you did say I was lyin-’

‘Oh shut up angel,’ Crowley grumbles but they move aside so Aziraphale can get into the room. A second later they follow. ‘Not even a paperback under it,’ they complain as they bend down to check.

‘No book would _dare_ live under my bed!’ Aziraphale says, having nudged the last book out from under there just an hour ago. ‘Not if it knows what’s good for it.’

Crowley eyes him. ‘You cleaned up earlier, didn’t you?’

Aziraphale blinks. ‘No?’

That gets a grin from Crowley as they put their hand on the mattress. ‘Dear Go- Sat- Somebody, this thing is as hard as a board! When did’cha say you got it?’

‘Hmm,’ Aziraphale hums as he tries to think. ‘You were asleep?’ he finally offers. ‘It was some point before the century turned but after you started napping. Wanted to see what it was like… no idea why you like it so much my dear.’

‘Course you don’t,’ Crowley says as they sit on the side of the bed. ‘You’d be better off on the floor than on this thing.’ They blink, a momentous moment for someone with fully yellow snake eyes. ‘Look… do you mind if I… if I do something for tonight?’

 _Yes!_ ‘I don’t mind my dear. What… whatever makes you the most comfortable.’

Crowley narrows their eyes but just nods and clicks. The bed they’re sitting on swaps out from under them, becoming the bed Aziraphale remembers seeing the night he stayed at their place.

_Success!_

‘That does look more comfortable,’ Aziraphale says as reluctantly as he can manage. ‘Far better than you sleeping on my sofa.’

He goes to turn to leave but Crowley grabs him by his arm with the speed of a striking snake. ‘Oi, angel! Where you going?’

Aziraphale blinks, turning back to look at Crowley. ‘I don’t sleep?’ he reminds the demon.

‘Oh.’ There’s something flat about Crowley’s voice and the way they look down, dropping Aziraphale’s arm. ‘Of course… I thought… but no… I can-’

Something tight breaks in Aziraphale’s chest, something he didn’t realise was fragile and suddenly all he has to do is _fix_ it.

‘But’, he says moving towards the bed, ‘I really didn’t try in something this comfortable.’ Crowley looks up with a hint of delight in their eyes. ‘Perhaps… perhaps just for tonight.’

He settles into the right side of bed as Crowley moves to lay down instead of sitting. With a click of Crowley’s fingers they are both dressed in black pyjamas. A click of Aziraphale’s fingers and a glare at Crowley makes his pyjamas a far more flattering tartan.

‘Now what?’ he asks as Crowley lies beside him as stiff as a board.

‘We ah, sleep,’ Crowley says and shuffles closer. ‘I… I’ve heard when you’re sharing it’s better to umm. Be close?’

Aziraphale reaches out and pulls Crowley to his side, leaving his arm over their shoulder. ‘I do like the sound of that.’

He can feel their smile in his shoulder as they roll to be even closer. It’s _nice_ , warm and comforting to be this close. Slowly Crowley’s breathing - a well formed habit by now - evens out and they shift their arms to start to cling to Aziraphale. They even twitch a little, as their sleep deepens.

Aziraphale never does manage to sleep but it’s still the best night’s rest he’s had in six thousand years.

_*_

But the next day brings the dilemma - has his temptation succeeded?

Is Crowley fully moved in? Can he call his flat their flat?

What makes this thing of theirs official?

Researching in his books only leads to confusion on what is official.

Okay no. All of them have some declaration. A request. Someone _speaking_. But it’s been months since Aziraphale started his tempting. Plants litter his flat, some of them even sitting _beside his books_ and it’s all very much a shared space. They have a bed together; Crowley’s art adorns his walls and his things have mixed with Aziraphale’s to a pleasing degree. They even spent last night together, Crowley awaking in Aziraphale’s arms with a soft smile and sweet kisses.

But at no point has Crowley asked to move in. At no point has he made any comment to bring it to Aziraphale’s attention. He’s just moved all his things in at Aziraphale’s careful prompting, like they are gifts from a devoted servant.

Oh Lord, he’s going to have to ask isn’t he?

But… but asking would mean breaking a thousand silences, would mean risking more than he’s ever risked before… but no. It’s not.

He risked destruction for Crowley. Risked a thousand eternities in the deepest pit if they were wrong - risked actual destruction before that, if they couldn’t stop Armadgeon. And Crowley faced far worse when they fought; gave voice to a thousand things Aziraphale wasn’t yet ready to say.

It may be that now, it’s his turn.

*

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale asks as he looks through his books, frowning as they continue to refuse to give him the answers he’s seeking. ‘Crowley?’

Crowley hums from his spot on the sofa, rolling over so he’s on his side and facing Aziraphale rather than staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t take his eyes off his phone but Aziraphale takes it as the sign of attention that it is.

Aziraphale gathers his courage with a deep breath, that feels far more necessary than usual, and takes the plunge.

‘Would you like to make it official?’

Crowley blinks and lowers his phone. ‘Make what official?’

‘That you’ve moved in,’ Aziraphale says with a frown.

‘Moved in?’ he says in a high voice. The high voice he only gets when he’s trying for an unaffected tone and misses.

It’s a good tone for him. Aziraphale strives to get him to use it at least once every third meeting or so.

It’s also not the tone Aziraphale was expecting. Surely… surely Crowley _noticed_. Surely he _knows_.

Of course he does. He’s just surprised Aziraphale is asking, that’s all. Which is strange - Aziraphale has already shown himself to be the worst type of fool where Crowley’s concerned.

‘Yes dear,’ he says, glancing around their shared flat. ‘It’s been gradual and I must have missed the exact date but I’m sure you moved in at some point recently-’

Twin thumps ring out as Crowley twists and leaps to his feet, his dress flaring with the movement. ‘I’ve _not_ moved _in_.’

Aziraphale blinks. _What?_

He turns his head to stare at the plant to his left, then looks back to Crowley. He raises an eyebrow.

‘Your place needed brightening up.’

Aziraphale just looks at the other five plants in the room, glaze lingering on them for a long minute each, before finally turning to look at the eagle lectern now acting as a coat rack. He gives Crowley another Look.

No. He can’t be _this_ oblivious? Sure Aziraphale isn't that good at tempting but… he had to have noticed!

‘...looks better there,’ Crowley mutters and drops down into his seat.

‘And the art? My flat was never so… so lively before you moved in.’

‘Hard to be lively when it was full of old books and literally nothing else,’ Crowley snaps. ‘You didn’t even have a proper bed!’

‘And now we have yours,’ Aziraphale says in his brightest tone. ‘A significant improvement - oh! Would that be the day you moved in then?’

Crowley blinks, long and slow blinks. 'Angel, I’ve not moved in. Not… I thought if my stuff was here and not home you… you might not send me away. Not straight away at least.’

Something sinks in Aziraphale’s stomach, cold and heavy. This… this was not at all how he expected this conversation to go. Surely… but no, Crowley knows himself best. Their domesticity was just an illusion conjured by Aziraphale’s mind, added to by Crowley’s small kindnesses.

The temptation _failed_.

‘Oh.’

But… maybe… can Aziraphale salvage this?

 _Be brave. Maybe it wasn’t an illusion. Maybe you have convinced him to stay. You have to ask to know,_ he thinks and takes another, deep breath.

‘Would… would you like to? Could… could I tempt you to move in?’ Aziraphale asks, looking down at his hands. He should be looking at Crowley, should address this to him but… but-

‘Would… you like to stay with me my dear?’ he asks the floor. ‘I… I don’t want you to ever leave.’

Crowley moves, footsteps stopping just in front of Aziraphale. He lifts Aziraphale’s hands and Aziraphale’s gaze follows them, something warm expanding in his chest at the sight of the soft smile on Crowley’s face. That smile doesn’t disappear when their gazes meet, nor does it fade when Crowley places a kiss to Aziraphale’s hands.

‘I would love that Angel.’ He smiles, the cheeky grin Aziraphale lied about loving for a thousand years. ‘After all, my stuff’s already here.’

Aziraphale slaps at him half hearted and leans into his body so Crowley can hold him. ‘I’ve tempted you then?’ he says with a laugh in his voice.

Crowley has a matching laugh in his voice when he speaks. ‘Yes angel, you have. Temptation accomplished.’

_*_

‘Angel?’ Crowley asks a week later as they sit on their sofa, watching Crowley’s television in the newly miracled living room of Aziraphale’s flat. Crowley’s been a lot more overt about the changes she’s making now and the increased space is one Aziraphale is starting to love.

More space for books and plants after all.

‘Hmm?’ Aziraphale glances up from the book he’s reading, sees what is on the screen and looks straight back down.

He can hear the grin in Crowley’s voice as she speaks, ‘Angel, I’ve paused it.’

Aziraphale risks a glance up and yes, Crowley’s ridiculous show has frozen on some awful sex scene they’re trying to pass off as entertaining. With a glare at his giggling demon, he clicks a hand at the screen to change it to that nice baking program Crowley likes to pretend she hates.

‘Oi!’

‘If you want me to look up, I will be looking at something enjoyable.’

That gets a grumble but no clicks to change the screen back. _Victory_. Besides, she doesn’t actually like that show - too many sad endings for her - but she refuses to admit to it.

After a long moment, Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. ‘Did you want something?’

‘Oh yeah!’ Crowley leans up and places a kiss on Aziraphale's nose, laughing again when he goes cross eyed to look at her. ‘Had a thought.’

‘Impressive,’ Aziraphale deadpans and smirks when that gets a glare from her. He kisses it off her face. ‘What was the thought?’

‘Was thinking about the move in confusion and how we are and what we are and, and then wondered ah,’ she says in a dazed tone, leaning in for another kiss.

‘Hmm?’

‘Are… are we _married_?’

Aziraphale blinks. ‘Of course we are my dear.’ He runs a gentle hand down her cheek. ‘I’ve… I’ve never said it but you are my eternal partner-’ oh that’s a lovely red Crowley’s turning, ‘- and any words that convey that… well you’re welcome to use them to describe me.’

Crowley just blinks, mouth flapping soundlessly as her cheeks blaze an even darker shade of red.

‘You _bastard_ ,’ she says finally and pulls him into a long kiss. ‘I was trying to figure out when we’d married and you go and _say that_.’

Aziraphale just smiles and kisses her again.

If this is the kind of reaction he gets he might have to say things like this more often. Unspoken understandings may be nice, but this. This.

This is worth a thousand words and all it costs is a little courage. He can do that.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale quotes from [this](http://www.online-literature.com/wilde/2304/) poem - Roses and Rue by Oscar Wilde. It's definitely somewhat fitting for Aziraphale/Crowley at that point in their relationship.


End file.
